


Call Me A Thief

by catstrophysics



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Fluff, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Sort of..., Thief Keith (Voltron), Vigilante AU, Vigilante Lance (Voltron), dark alley, not Angst per se, that specific trope with the chin-tilting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catstrophysics/pseuds/catstrophysics
Summary: Keith "Samurai" Kogane is a notorious thief, known for committing dozens of crimes. Lance McClain is a vigilante, set on catching the one thief he let get away years before.A blatant excuse to write the whole "tilts chin up with the point of a blade" trope for a friend.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Call me a thief, there's been a robbery..._
> 
> This is technically my first time writing Klance, but that's not to say I haven't shipped it for years now.

The hooded figure crouched, poised to jump, half-invisible in the shadows cast by streetlights. He fingered deftly over the blade in his grip, thumb skimming the tip and catching on the point. It ran white-hot adrenaline through his veins to feel the power of the knife, to touch a razor-thin edge that had nearly snatched so many lives from so many souls. Lance grinned to himself behind his mask, twirling the blade absently as he watched the open end of the alley for any sign of movement. 

He was watching for someone specific tonight, though, the boy with black hair that snuck through this alley weekly to break into the shops along the street. _Samurai,_ the thief was called unofficially, for the twin swords strapped across his back and his dead-silent crimes, but Lance knew him by another name. Had for a long time, really, since their first run-in together when Lance was just starting out protecting the city and Samurai stole for the first time. 

_“Who are you?” Lance demanded, hands shaking as the lean, masked figure before him straightened up, clutching a handful of gold jewelry. The thief startled, dropping the chains jingling and clinking onto the floor, and blurted out an answer._

_“Keith Kogane,” he said, then, “wait, shit, no, I’m Samurai, I mean…” His shoulders slumped. “Don’t tell anyone?” he pleaded, pulling his mask up off his head, leaving a mess of shiny black hair sticking up in a hundred directions and mournful fear glinting out of tired purple eyes._

Lance hadn’t told anyone, had carried the secret of Keith “Samurai” Kogane with him for more than five years now, but that was over. He needed to meet him again, to talk to him. Even just for one night. 

A shadow flickered past the mouth of the alley, and Lance tensed, practiced fingers slipping to the ready around his knife in his pocket, his whole self taut and ready to spring down and subdue the thief. 

A shopkeeper stepped in, hauling a stack of broken-down cardboard, and Lance let out a quiet breath. _Damn it_ , he thought. 

A second shadow, lightning-quick and nearly imperceptible, flitted by. The pit of his stomach turned, and he knew. When the boy started to creep down the side of the alley, melting into the darkness, Lance drew his muscles tighter. He moved furtively, and he gained a new appreciation for the title Samurai. Nevertheless, when he was less than a foot away, Lance leapt down from his perch and deftly pinned the thin body to the brickwork, one hand over his mouth and one tight around his waist, sending a message: _Move, and you’re screwed_.

“Don’t try anything, Keith,” Lance whispered in his ear, and he felt the boy’s entire body stiffen in his hold. “I’m going to let you go, now, okay?” He first dropped his hand from the boy’s mouth, wary in case he tried to bolt, but he was oddly compliant. Relaxed, even. Lance began to unfurl his arm from around the boy’s narrow waist, sliding his palm flat across his ribs, tense in case he tried to pull something. The last thing he expected was strong, cold fingers to catch on his own and pull them back around his stomach, and for the boy to lean back into Lance’s chest. 

“Oh, come on, let’s have a little _fun_ , yeah?” he teased, voice low. “Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” 

Lance blushed from his collarbones to the tops of his ears, and even though the color wasn’t visible in the light, the shame burned. “Both, actually,” he replied easily, taking his free hand to pull the dagger from his front pocket. “Meet Lucy.” 

He twirled the knife in one hand, handle slipping back and forth across his thumb, and he stopped mid-twirl. 

“Nice knife,” Keith commented, nodding appreciatively. He cocked his head to the side so he could check out Lance’s expression. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you.” 

“I could say the same,” Lance responded, and _damn_ could he ever. The Samurai had aged well, jawline sharpening and eyes growing more dangerous, strong muscle obvious even underneath his solid black ensemble. He’d gotten hotter over the years, too, as loathe as Lance was to admit it. “You ditched the swords,” he noted, in reference to the pair of twin swords previously omnipresent on the boy’s back. Easier to say than _God, you’re gorgeous_ , he figured. Not that he minded their absence, however, because it meant he had him captive against his chest. 

Alone. 

In a dark alley. 

He took a moment, considering, then asked, “Hey, if I let go of you, you won’t, like, run away, right?” It was a dumb question. What thief wouldn’t run from a part-time vigilante? Apparently, Keith, because he was shaking his head solemnly. “Cool.” Lance shook his hand free of Keith’s grip, then took a step back to size him up, hand absently sliding to where his dagger was. 

Keith took a moment to stretch, rolling his head languidly from side to side, stopping to blink at Lance. “You’re rather good-looking in this light,” he remarked, cocky grin settling onto his lips. “But I bet I can still beat you in a fight.” 

In a heartbeat, Keith had his own knife drawn and was on Lance, pressing him backwards across the alley against a locked door. He twirled his own knife in a figure-eight, black and silver steel flashing in the half-light, purple eyes gleaming, before pressing the very tip to Lance’s Adam’s apple. It was a terrifyingly short fight, Lance’s hand still in his pocket, fingers around the handle of his own knife. 

He couldn’t say he minded all that much, though. Somehow, he could feel that Keith wouldn’t actually _use_ his knife on him. He hoped. 

“Give in?” 

The blade trailed up, tracing a row of tiny pinpricks up his throat and sending a shiver up his spine. The point settled on his chin, before the tiniest pressure forced him to look up. A steely gaze met his own, and the tip of the knife dug in an infinitesimal amount. His presence of mind started to slip, melting away under icy-hot eyes and fear of the knife on his chin. 

And yet… he was a hero. In his own mind, at least. 

“Never.” 

He jerked his head back, away from the blade, and brought his arm up in one quick movement. He knocked the knife away, sending it clattering onto the pavement. He froze when he found his pocket empty, confused fingers searching wildly for his dagger. 

He looked up, and Keith was absently fingering his knife, watching the tip swing with a raised eyebrow. He sauntered forward, holding Lance’s own blade outstretched, forcing him cross-eyed as he stared at the glinting point. 

The pressure nicked under his chin. 

And then the boy in black was leaning in, closer, one hand propped on the brick inches behind Lance's head, and he smelled cold and sharp and dangerous, _intoxicating_. 

His lips tasted copper, bitingly sharp, and the rush of being in a dark alley, pressed against a wall by a known criminal launched his senses to the moon. 

The city roared around them, thrumming and breathing, and yet between them it was completely silent. 

Keith pulled back, gasping in a breath, and Lance grinned widely up at him and his kiss-reddened lips. 

“Hey, Samurai?” he asked, panting in the night air. “Are you a thief? Because you just stole my heart.” Keith stared at him, dead-eyed, and Lance broke down in giggles, grabbing onto the other boy’s shoulders for support as his own body shook with laughter. 

“If I didn’t really want to kiss you again, I’d take this knife and I’d—”

Lance cut him off with his lips again, hands sneaking around his back to his utility belt, groping for the handle of his own knife as Keith’s mouth eagerly chased his own. He pulled back again, smirk already spreading. “You’d what? Stab me?” 

Now it was Keith’s turn to laugh, and it resonated throughout Lance’s body, a quiet, hysterical sound that seemed to spread from his lungs to the tips of his fingers, buried deep in Lance’s hair. “Yeah, I’d stab you,” he said, threading his arms around Lance’s waist. “You wanna get out of here? Go back to my place?” 

Lance blinked incredulously at him, leaning back into his hands. “Your place?” he asked, uncertainty and nerves dripping into his voice. “You’re a thief, though, and I’m, like, a hero, or something. Shouldn’t we, um, not?” But the thought of not having the boy in front of him around, of having to turn him in to the police like he knew he should—he’d stolen tens of thousands of dollars worth of goods, broken into dozens of homes, threatened the lives of citizens for years—it burned deep in his chest. His resolve hardened. 

“Yeah, Keith,” he said, and he didn’t miss how the boy’s fingers splayed wider across the small of his back. “Let’s go home.” 

It turns out, notorious thieves can steal more than gold.


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set on the night Keith and Lance first met (the italicized bit in the prior chapter).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is here thanks to [Maryliz2121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maryliz2121)>, who asked for a prologue/sequel! There's a sequel in the works if people read this, so let me know!

Keith tossed another balled-up sheet of notebook paper across the room, watching as it clattered next to the wastebasket, grumbling under his breath. He _needed_ a badass alias to be a badass thief. According to Shiro—Scarface, that is. 

_Red. Cowboy._ Two rejected names, pulled from a childhood of pretending to be a hero. No more. 

_Mullet_ , he thought ruefully, running a hand through his hair. No longer long, no longer shaggy in the back. He’d shaved most of it down, a cropped undercut instead of his, well, mullet from before. Better hair for a thief-in-training. 

That night he was set to go out, smash through the window of some old rich lady’s house and steal a few handfuls of her jewelry. An easy job, according to Shiro, who’d done the same dozens of times before. He wanted Keith to start his own collection, he claimed, gesturing to his ear where a line of silver, gold, and diamond studs arced. For every 100 earrings you steal, you add a piercing. Shiro had eight, but had only stopped when he ran out of room on his ear. 

Keith couldn’t wait. But first, he needed a name.

The door to the apartment he shared with Shiro and his boyfriend swung open, and the pair came in, laughing heartily about something. You’d never guess one was a professional thief from the looks of them, and you’d also never guess the other supported him fully in this occupation. 

Keith asked after this, once, curious how Adam was willing to support a life of crime. 

“Fuck the patriarchy,” had been his response, before he loped off to start to pull together dinner. 

“Hiya, Samurai, how was your day?” Shiro asked, reaching over the back of the couch to ruffle his hair. “You getting ready for tonight?” He tossed a suspiciously large bag onto the cushion to Keith’s right, before tossing himself over to sit next to him. “Got a new name yet?” 

Keith grinned, a lightbulb going off over his head. “Now I do.” 

Shiro blinked at him, cocking his head in confusion, and then brightened. “Aw, Samurai, that’s cute!” Adam, standing in the doorway, apron half-tied around his waist with a second over his shoulder, nodded vigorously, grinning. Keith scowled at them, but his heart was pounding too hard to do much about their commentary. 

_He had an alias now. A real thief._

Anticipation blurred the hours until dusk into a streak of apprehension, hydrating, and stretching. And then, Shiro was rushing him out the door, carrying a black bag full of equipment. He stopped to kiss Adam briefly, who whispered a “be safe, babe,” into his ear and then pulled Keith in for a quick hug. Just because he supported them didn’t mean he didn’t worry, and it was twofold now that Keith was following in Shiro’s footsteps. 

The drive to the Estates, as the residents of the neighborhood called it, rippled with tension. Shiro, nodding his head along to some pop song on the radio, kept casting side-eyed glances at Keith. Keith pretended not to notice, jiggling his leg and fiddling with the knife in its sheath on his belt. His nerves sparked, more with excitement than anything. 

He knew it was weird that he wanted to be a thief, wanted to live a life that mean constantly fearing justice and the _knock knock knock_ of the police showing up at their house. He knew it, since second grade when his teacher asked a simple question, and amidst a sea of firefighters, and doctors, and zookeepers, two answers stood out. 

_“Alright, class, let’s go around and everyone says what they want to be when they grow up!” the teacher announced, voice cheery and bright._

_“I wanna be a doctor like my gran’pa!” a boy with shiny blonde hair piped, smiling cheek to cheek._

_“I wanna be a fighter pilot and fly a plane!” came a girl in the middle of the room, holding her arms out to simulate a plane._

_The boy next to Keith came next, declaring, “I want to be a hero, just like Batman, and work in the dark and save the city!” His blue eyes sparkled, and the way he puffed out his chest and tossed a head full of unruly brown hair made Keith’s heart shimmer. The boy radiated the sort of calm, confident energy he wished he could replicate, and looked so kind, too. He made a note to try to talk to him later._

_The teacher turned to Keith, eyes expectant._

_“I want to be a thief,” he heard himself say, and the room went dead silent. His teacher gaped at him, before saying, “Like Robin Hood? That’s very noble of you.” She quickly nodded for the next girl to speak, turning away from Keith._

The car slowed down as Shiro flicked off the headlights before cutting the engine in an alley, a few dozen yards from big chrome gates with “Ivory Estates” scripted across them. “We’re here. Let’s go over the plan again, okay?” Shiro’s voice was calm and hard, and for the first time Keith noticed how tight his hands were on the steering wheel, even now that the car was stopped. He really cared. “Talk me through it.” 

Keith sighed, before reciting the plan for the fifteenth time. “There’s a hole in the fence, about fifty yards off the road, crawl through that, fourth house down on the left, the blue one, you said, the back door she leaves unlocked for the gardener, in, grab some jewelry, back out before she even knows what’s hit her.” He sighed, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, but Shiro’s bright, fond grin made him relax. 

He was excited. No two ways about it. 

“Ready, Samurai?” Shiro asked, and he just nodded solemnly. “Go get ‘em.” 

The air nipped his cheeks, but was silenced quickly as he pulled the warm mask over his head, squashing his hair flat and, for once, he was glad Shiro had forced him to shave the lower half instead of letting him leave it long. For tonight, at least, Shiro had been right. 

“Love ya, bud,” Shiro whispered into the night, before pulling the car further into the darkness of the forest. Keith fingered over his knife, strapped up in the holster on his belt, and then took off running on his toes towards the hole he knew was just a short ways away, warily scanning the bushes around him. Just because it was nearing one in the morning and nothing living moved, the fear still hung sharp over his heart. 

_There._ He spotted the hole, really more of a rip in the fencing than anything, He squeezed through it, wire catching on the sleeves of his sweatshirt, and for a second the fear he would get caught clenched his heart. Then he was through, and dashing into the night again. 

The house was massive, stately, and very blue, and he didn’t feel a single drop of remorse that he was about to break into some old lady’s house and take her things. She had so much, and he had so little, and her door was unlocked anyways. 

True to Shiro’s word, the back door was unlocked, and it swung open on quiet hinges. Up the stairs to the second floor, down the hallway’s worn wood floor, closet door on the left, safe in the bottom corner. He pushed aside a row of coats, bent down, and pulled the lockpicking set from his pocket. _This can’t be more than a twenty-minute project or so,_ he thought, and sat down cross-legged to work. 

The tumblers in the lock clunked and turned, on his fiftieth attempt or so, and he smiled. _Gotcha._ He swung the door open gingerly, and his jaw dropped at the sheer amount of gold inside. He started to grab a handful to shove into his bag, but—

“Who are you?” came a voice, young and wavering. He turned, straightening, and dropped the jewelry clattering onto the floor as he stared into wide, ocean-blue eyes. His brain shut off, adrenaline and panic blocking out functionality. 

“Keith Kogane,” he defaulted, before his heart dropped, realizing, and appending, “wait, shit, no, I’m Samurai, I mean…” 

He fucked up. Reaching up resignedly, he yanked the mask off of his head, feeling static cling to his hair as he pulled. “Don’t tell anyone?” 

The boy standing opposite stared wide-eyed for a moment, before pity overtook his eyes, and he dropped his shoulders, nodding his acquiescence. 

“Hope I never see you again, Keith,” the boy said, “‘cause I’m going to get you next time.” 

Keith shivered involuntarily as the boy turned to walk away, back down the stairs and through the front door, and he picked up a single pair of gold earrings to bring with him. He bolted down the stairs to the back door on light feet, and back out to the hole in the fence. Shiro stood, waiting, and pulled him into a warm hug. 

“I didn’t get anything,” he said, and felt the dam of tears begin to break. “Nothing useful at all.” 

“Shh, it’s okay, buddy,” Shiro soothed, “let’s get you home. There’s always later. I’m proud of you, Samurai.” 

The drive home was quiet, as Keith’s body drained of energy after exhausting all his energy. “I ran into a cop-type guy, I guess he knew I would be there, but he was just a kid,” he finally said, and Shiro’s brow furrowed. 

“That’s worrisome. I’ll keep an eye out. Identifying marks?” His tone was all business. 

“Blue eyes. Pretty blue eyes. And good cheekbones.” 

If Shiro noticed the compliment, he didn’t notice, but when they got home, he and Adam hugged him a little tighter. And that night, he dreamt of a boy with stunning blue eyes, not widened in fear but narrowed in a grin. _If only they were on the same side._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I got sort of attached to the idea of Keith with an undercut and piercings, so there's some (very bad) art I attempted to make [here](https://catstrophysics.tumblr.com/post/189240193032/call-me-a-thief-catstrophysics-voltron). If you liked this, drop some kudos! And if you want a sequel, leave a comment to let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave comments/kudos if you did, it means the world to me that people read my nonsense. 
> 
> If you're into BNHA/Supernatural/a lone Good Omens fic, check out the rest of my works! 
> 
> Drop a song recommendation in the comments section, if you like, I listen to them all!


End file.
